Memories
They are in the woodwork of my mind
framed memories fixed, nailed in time.
My father is there, silent as wood.
I sought to know him, but never could.
Mother’s presence splinters the air
I hear her still, voice cobbled in care.
Older sisters emerge, a polished veneer
whispering what others won’t go near.
An older oak-stout brother appears
he ingrained me with nightmarish fears.
Best memories end a blossomed tree
when a surprise baby brother comes to be.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2021
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